


reach out

by doublejoint



Series: peachtober 2020 [28]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: Everything is different.
Relationships: Arisawa Tatsuki/Inoue Orihime
Series: peachtober 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953295
Kudos: 6





	reach out

**Author's Note:**

> #peachtober day 28: Bloom

Things change, and sometimes the borders are obvious, like before and after a death, gaining a rank in karate, finishing a school year, the transition small and clearly delineated, for the most part. The after-effects still resonate, like ripples in the water, like musical overtones, but even in the midst of that the dividing line can still be seen. And, well, Orihime was gone, and now she’s back, after everything. There should be a border, thick and crude as if drawn with a heavy marker, between then and now, the duration that she was away, but the line feels blurred, as if it’s still spilling over, leaking under the cracks she’d tried to hammer over. Orihime’s changed, but she is still changing; one day she’s back to the way she was and the next she’s reversed that all over again, more cautious, sadder. Which one is how she really is, and which one is how she wants to be?

Maybe all of that is normal. And of course she doesn’t want to talk about it, least of all with Tatsuki, who wasn’t there and can’t possibly understand (Orihime would never say it in those words, and neither would Ichigo, even, but he’s gotten the point across to her and she can’t even punch him for it). But if she can’t show her real self to Tatsuki, what kind of friend has Tatsuki been? She’s done her best to protect Orihime--and that level of best was clearly nowhere near enough, and hasn’t been since all of this started happening, but Orihime wouldn’t blame her for that. (Whether Tatsuki blames herself or not is a different story, but not important to this in particular, because this is about Orihime, not her.)

But it remains that Tatsuki could do very little. She was on the other side of a wall, unable to see or sense Orihime, unable to do much more than get in the way. She’d told Orihime once that you don’t decide for yourself if you were useless or not, but that’s easy to say when it’s about other people, less so when your own hands can’t grab anything but empty air. She is no longer the protector, Orihime no longer the protected, but this isn’t the beginning of that. It’s a process, a drift, like traveling along a crack between them until they reach across and can’t touch hands, and the way back is lost in the mist. 

These things won’t stop happening; Tatsuki’s sure of that much. Orihime will still be caught in that world that Tatsuki can see but that evades her grasp, like water cupped in her hands draining out no matter how watertight she tries to make them. But that doesn’t make any of this any easier, nor does it magically bridge the gap between them. That’s something they’ll have to do themselves, if Orihime’s interested.

* * *

Nothing unusual happens that summer. Orihime comes with Tatsuki to the nationals, though, a naked apology gesture, but Tatsuki appreciates it. Of course Orihime sees the rift, too, but they haven’t talked about it at all, and for all that Tatsuki’s hurt that Orihime won’t talk about any of this with her, doesn’t that make her a bit of a hypocrite here? Pointing fingers and saying that Orihime had started it is petty and irrelevant.

Tatsuki takes second place again, but this time she doesn’t break her arm. It’s an incremental victory, but not the victory she wants, not the victory she needs. She can appreciate Orihime’s efforts to cheer her up, her own imitations of karate moves that lead Tatsuki into correcting her (though, really, she’s getting better), her hands on Orihime’s waist, steadying her arms, blocking her kicks. 

She doesn’t think about Orihime’s hair, longer than ever, the ends brushing against her arms, or Orihime’s skin, soft and warm under her hands--or if she does, it’s brief and glancing, less of a priority than fixing her form.

Right.

* * *

Once you admit one thing to yourself, it’s hard to stop the barrage of the other thoughts and feelings you’d been keeping at bay from tumbling out, like pulling out a shirt from an overstuffed closet and not slamming the door shut behind you in time. This has been going on for longer than Tatsuki had wanted to admit; instead of together, they are at least parallel but separated, at most growing apart. 

And Tatsuki wants to reach out, not just to recapture what they’re losing, but for other reasons, her feelings of frustration, of inadequacy, of being left behind compounded because she wants Orihime in other ways. There is a flower blooming in her chest, a rose with thorns scratching at her ribs from the inside. A glance, a word, press the thorns in painfully, and this is never what Tatsuki wanted, never something else to come between them, especially not now. If she could have gone on ignoring it, let it be lost in the shuffle of her other feelings, it would have been better, but everything in the closet’s come down on top of her. There’s no stuffing it back in.

* * *

Autumn comes, and it rains every day for a week. Tatsuki’s hair is long enough in the back for her to pull it into a tiny ponytail, for the first time she can remember.

“Your hair looks cute like that,” Orihime says, and Tatsuki can’t breathe (and, well, there goes her plans of getting a haircut anytime soon).

She doesn’t mean anything other than friendly affection by that, surely. Tatsuki lets her mind wander to the possibilities for half a second, but she’s the practical one. Orihime’s the one given to flights of fancy--but, now, she’s less that way than she used to be, isn’t she? Maybe that’s growing up. Maybe it’s all the things that had happened to her, the change setting into place, tightening over her skin. Maybe they’re on the other side of the divide at last, but nothing feels settled. There’s still something lingering above them, not Tatsuki’s feelings. She doesn’t need any sort of spiritual pressure to notice.

Orihime’s still looking at her, as if she’s putting together a puzzle, rearranging things in an order Tatsuki doesn’t understand, following a strange logic all her own, but coming to the correct conclusion faster than Tatsuki ever will, as usual. Whatever it is, Tatsuki has to trust it. She smiles back at Orihime, resists the urge to play with her hair, waits.

They both only look away when class starts.

* * *

“Everything is different,” Orihime says. “I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tatsuki says, immediately--but Orihime grabs her hand before she can say anything else.

“It’s not your fault!”

(It’s not her fault because she can’t do anything; it’s not her fault she feels what she does; that doesn’t reverse the facts, the distance.)

Tatsuki, smiles, bitter, and Orihime’s frown grows deeper, a little more panicked.

Kissing Tatsuki is one way to change her expression, and Tatsuki can’t believe that’s what she’s thinking about when Orihime does kiss her, clumsy and quick, their lips pressed together awkwardly like books fallen against each other on the same sparse shelf.

“What?” Tatsuki says.

“I don’t want to see you look like that,” Orihime says. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t you apologize, either,” says Tatsuki, sliding back into the role she’s used to, the minder, the one on the direct path. 

When she kisses Orihime, it’s not that much better than the first one, if Tatsuki’s being honest with herself. But at least she’s thinking about Orihime’s hand clasped around hers and the smell of Orihime’s lip balm this time.


End file.
